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The Tree
Stripped of the once proud mantle, Leave’s scattered all around. Swaying, rhythmically, To the music of the breeze As played by Mother Nature. I The tree, standing majestically alone, Surrounded, By the singing, dancing leaves, As for a brief moment, In the dying day’s of autumn, They are free, I The tree, Soon to be adorned again, With the hue’s, of ice and snow, Splendor magnificent, In the mantle white, That is the face of winter.
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